Rooster

Prelude
         On a dirt road where the horizon lays flat, not rivaled by any trees or tall skyscrapers, holds a man, a man walking, stumbling forward down the roads of the physical world yet nearing the end of the road of life. He holds the thought that his life is close to over, thinking that he has sewed his wild oats and will now reap the harvest. His face shares the look a person gets when they believe they have seen a ghost.

Chapter 1
         Walking tall is far from an activity that Titus indulges in. Throughout the life of Titus, he was told who he was, a degenerate. The primary bearer of this message for Titus was the nation he was forced to be born in. While the government defines degeneracy as those void of moral character, they also regard it as a trait that abides in the souls of people born into a race they do not deem "pure". On the day Titus was tried and subsequently sentenced to the rest of his life, he finds himself at his new home.
         Grey skies dominate a world filled with slashed hope and overpowering insecurities. Below the overbearing sky sits, proudly, a chain-linked fence, reaching the heights of some of the clouds in the sky. There is one, and only one, large gate dressed in a black sign and grey letters reading “The Cantrell Institute.”. The fence is heavily guarded by men in attire typically worn by infantrymen. The militarized guards carried military-issued service rifles equipped with scopes powerful enough to see, clearly, a target one mile away. The ground below was perfectly leveled and entirely desolate save for the endless mounds of trash and cast-out relics from the past world. This, from afar, appears like the common junkyard a surplus of less than healthy steam ascending from the ground and green, gross-smelling fumes emanating from the tower-sized piles of trash, but upon further inspection, one could find that this junkyard holds imprisoned people cast out by the government. From the fence and inward, no building is erected by civilized society, only structures the inmates have attempted to conjure. No guard batted an eye as another armored personnel carrier arrived casting out, with force, another confused, dejected inmate. As the armored van drove away with haste, the man was left alone on all fours with nothing but an orange jumpsuit to his name. He held a cocktail of emotions, with a look of hurt and confusion on his face. Crackling noises could be heard from a speaker attached to the chain-linked fence that stretched miles beyond what the human eye could see. The crackling ended abruptly, and a low stern voice came through the speaker. “He’s all yours, Sloan.” Said the voice. The inmate heard slow, weak footsteps inch closer from behind. He turned his head, saw a hunched-over old man smirk, and waved him over. As he slowly walked over to the old man, he noticed distinct features of the old man. The man in front of him had few teeth and fewer strands of hair remaining on his head, a blue polka-dotted bandana tied around his neck, and a buttoned-down dirty denim shirt with dirty torn overalls and suede tall boots riddled with small holes. He began speaking with twang, rasp, and eagerness “Hi, I’m Sloan, the guy that voice was talking to on that speakin’ thing. I’m here to introduce you to the Cantrell Institute. This place is now your home and grave. You’ve been sent here ‘cause of the way you stood out and opposed the look of an average citizen. You have been found wanting in intellect to… First thing, if you wear that bright orange prison uniform you're sendin a message to all the psychos that you some fresh blood.” The man Sloan was talking to had his mouth slightly agape, confused as to what Sloan was saying. He interrupted Sloan interjecting “What’s a uniform?”. Sloan, now with his mouth agape said, “You don’t know a lot of words do ya?”. The man shook his head. “No need to worry, follow me,”. They began walking together to a pile of aged, stained clothes. The pile’s height was three of the men stacked atop each other. Sloan starts rummaging through the large pile of clothes. He began alternating between looking at the inmate and looking through clothes. “Let’s see…um… you look like this, with a little bit of this… Ah! Got it!”. Sloan hands the man a dirty, off-white dress shirt with black suspenders and a brown, worn, dirtied suit jacket with ripped a seam on the top left shoulder and a hole on the bottom of the interior pocket. Sloan then gives the man a pair of pants that match the suit jacket’s color. For shoes, the man is given dirty, white sneakers with a blue patch shaped like an oval sewn on the back of each shoe. To quite literally top it all off, Sloan gave the man a plain, dark brown fedora. After giving the clothes to the man, Sloan sighed from exhaustion and pointed around the hill of clothing. As he gestured, he said, “Go on around the hill and change into those clothes I gave you, alright?”. The man started climbing the mound. Sloan giggled and said, “You could just walk around the pile ya know.”. Sloan’s laughter increased as the man smiled trying to ignore his embarrassment. The inmate slid down the pile and walked around to change. The inmate finished changing and walked back to Sloan. Sloan gestured for the man to follow him. As the man walked a smile slowly procured itself on his face. Wearing the suit made the inmate feel like he was being hugged.
         Sloan faced away from the entry gate and gestured for Titus to do the same. Sloan, standing to the right of Titus, put his arm around his shoulder. Sloan pointed at the guards who were standing outside the gate looking inward at the Institute. “Now, these guards don’t like any inmates hangin’ near the fence.” Sloan then moved his hand and gestured at the Junkyard in front of them and continued “so, sadly it’s time for you to venture out into this wasteland of junk and junkies. But I will give you some advice. First, walk straight ahead when you leave me. Keep walking until you can’t see fence no more, then walk left ‘til you see a ‘bunch a buildings made out of cardboard boxes. The people there will take care a ya. Second, if you decide to venture off my direction you might not like the crazies that ya see… that is… if you live long enough not to like it. Lastly, and most importantly, Don’t breathe too deep if you start gettin’ around all this steam you see; some of the steam comes from the sewer tunnels beneath us.”. Titus took a nervous gulp, thanked Sloan, and began the dauntingly long walk ahead of him... (End of Chapter 1)